


starts so soft and sweet and turns them to hunters

by seventhstar



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Zexal
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Astral!Durbe, Forbidden Love, M/M, Memory Loss, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-15
Updated: 2015-04-15
Packaged: 2018-03-23 01:26:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3749812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seventhstar/pseuds/seventhstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Astral!Durbe, Mizael, forbidden love, and what comes after.</p>
            </blockquote>





	starts so soft and sweet and turns them to hunters

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rangerhitomi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rangerhitomi/gifts).



Durbe rolls over onto him.

Mizael stares past him, into the thick canopy of trees. They are alone again, deep in the woods; Durbe prefers it indoors, spends his days quietly researching and drinking coffee, but Mizael cannot shake his fears of being seen by hsi own kind.

But they are alone here. No one but Mizael to know. No one but Mizael to betray him.

Durbe’s hands move over his chest, searching for fastenings, his eyes wide and grey and deep. He has an irrepressible thirst for knowledge, and cunning, and a ruthless streak that he hides behind a polite veneer until he is pushed. He is very gentle with Mizael; probably he Is a young Astral, peaceable, thinking that so long as he is only a scholar and not a warrior, he is safe.

In time he will learn, Mizael knows. Blood will teach him otherwise. He tugs Durbe down, closer; let him drown himself just this once.

+++++

Mizael’s mouth is soft. Durbe presses his lips against it, his fingers digging into Mizael’s vest until he finds the catch, and he opens it and unbuttons his shirt to reveal his chest; muscles, long magenta stripes up his ribs, scars.

How mysterious. How perfect. “What are these?”

He touches the scars.

“Arrows.”

“And these?”

The bright pink lines are warmer than Mizael’s skin.

“Don’t ask,” Mizael says, and his hands slide up Durbe’s back under his shirt. There are callouses on his palms that scrape across Durbe’s skin. His hands press down, and Durbe lets himself be pushed so that their mouths meet again.

Durbe spreads his legs so that his hips are atop Mizael’s hips, so that he is pressed deliciously against him. He has never done this in a human body before.

But Mizael’s expression twists with pleasure when he moves, when Durbe grinds up against him, and their hands intertwine in the grass as they thrust. Time stops, the woods go silent, Durbe forgets everything.

Only Mizael’s open mouth, his closed eyes, his body hot beneath Durbe’s remains.

When it is over, he cannot think of moving, and Mizael pushes him off and kisses him soundly. They cling to one another, and Durbe would like to go but Mizael’s eyes are sad.

The grass gets in their hair, and the airs starts to get cold as the sun goes down. They curl up together, and Durbe holds Mizael, tells him everything important (almost everything) until he smiles.

+++++

“Do you want him, or shall I?” Vector toys with his knife as they watch Durbe come out of the library. Mizael’s heart drops as he searches for another Astral, someone else he can point Vector at, but there is no one.

And Astrals are the enemy, even ones like Durbe who have no part in the war. As long as Durbe and his kind exist, the Barians cannot, not safely. Mizael has the scars to prove it.

He touches the pink marks on his face. “He’s mine. Go.”

Vector’s smirk makes Mizael wonder what he knows, but he goes away, leaping across the rooftops ,and Mizael rests a hand on his sword.

He apologizes his weapon silently. It will be stained with blood today, blood that Mizael does not wish to shed.

“Durbe.”

“Mizael?”

“Walk with me.”

“Why?”

Durbe’s eyes flash. He must know something, must see something threatening in Mizael’s tensed body, and Mizael cannot bear his suspicion, so rightly held. He drags Durbe into an alley by the arm, and catches him around the waist and kisses him hard on the mouth.

Durbe’s hands come up to his face, and the touch of his mouth is so warm, so tender, and Mizael stabs him through the heart in one clean blow.

Blood spatters on the pavement as Durbe falls into his arms.

+++++

There is a double standard in Durbe’s favor, and he does not know why.

Mizael is abrasive, short-tempered, and he shuns the other Lords in favor of battle. And yet he is honorable. And yet he treats Durbe with respect and patience, even though Durbe is still a young Barian, newly born, and Mizael is old and must have more pressing duties.

“Mizael doesn’t show that he likes people,” Alit warned him. “But he’s loyal and he’ll have your back if you need him. Don’t get put off by his grumpiness.”

“You must have wanted to live very badly,” Mizael said to him the first time they met, when Durbe was tensed for a harsh word. None came; Mizael instructed him in the basics of Barian magic — Durbe was strong, he said — and then he told Durbe he could partner with Mizael for patrols.

Apparently, no one else ever received that offer. Durbe is honored, though, by Mizael’s attention, and he uses his talents to further the Barian cause as much as he can, in repayment. He does not enjoy the war, though he can take some pleasure in battle, in strategy. But he can enjoy returning Mizael’s assistance tenfold.

+++++

Mizael does not know whether he is glad or despairing when they decide it is Durbe who will lead them from now on, after Vector has made one too many mistakes.

Durbe is an excellent strategist. He is very intelligent. He duels very well. And he makes Mizael’s heart hurt, with his kindness, with his innocent regard. He does not know.

The guilt weighs on Mizael, though. He had owed Durbe better. He had owed Barian Wold more, but honoring one promise did not mean he was clean of breaking another.

It would have been better to restrain himself.

“Mizael.”

“Durbe.” Mizael straightens.

“Will you accompany me? I have a lead on Astral activity.”

“As you command,” Mizael says softly, and he bows. Durbe shkes his head and offers him a mouthless smile.

“Come,” he says. Mizael goes. Barian Durbe is powerful – bright gems on his body, armored calves, quiet grace. He hates himself for still wanting him.

+++++

There is nothing in the ruins when they arrive. The broken palace is at the center of a maze, deep underwater, and every sign of life is gone. There is a quiet energy here, something dormant, but no sign of any Astrals.

“It’s getting stronger.” Mizael points, and moves in front of him. Durbe is moved by his protectiveness, even though it’s unnecessary.

He’s right. The pull is in the direction he’s indicating, so they follow it down the hallway and into the heart of the maze. The central room is a throne room, enormous gold chair against one wall, murals painted everywhere. Gods or monsters attack hapless humans on every wall.

There is something glowing in the center of the room, shielded by a sphere of white light. It resonates with Durbe, makes his gems all light up with pleasure, and Mizael has to hold him back when he reaches for it.

He needs it. Durbe struggles.

“Please,” he says when nothing else — orders, harsh words — works. “Mizael. Let go of me.”

Mizael shuddesr behind him, his arms around Durbe’s waist to keep him still, and he loosens his grip.

“Be careful.”

Durbe ignores him. He reaches out through the shield, and grasps the glowing deck of cards trapped within it. It pulses through him.

He remembers things; a cold blue worlds, endless texts in hundreds of languages, a sweet longing, pain.

Pain. Cold steel in his chest, shock and horror, denial because Mizael would never have hurt him.

Holy Lightning offers him the truth, offers him his Astral powers. Durbe could change back, if he desires, and Mizael would not have time to run. Wouldn’t that be fitting —

— but, oh, the desire for Mizael that breathed life into his soul once more is still there —

—and Holy Lightning’s card Ranks Up in his hands, the light corrupted, Chaos surging in Durbe’s soul.

“What are you doing?” Mizael asks.

“Choosing.”


End file.
